


Afterimage

by Xyriath



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Idk I didn't tag major character death because it's a happy fic... i promise...., M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Past Character Death, Past Violence, Period-Typical Homophobia, also if I ever write more of this AU I mean things might change.......
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-20 18:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17028030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: Keith Kogane is a mediator—a liaison between the living and the dead, destined to help the departed move on.  This has caused enough problems and gotten him into enough trouble that the only thing keeping him off the juvenile delinquent list is his uncanny ability to Get Away With Shit™.After his move to California, however, and swearing to his newly-remarried father that no, he won't burn down any more gyms, or steal any more cars, he's giving it up.  A fresh start.  None of this ghost business.Lucky, because the hot ghost haunting his bedroom doesn't seem to need his help.  So Keith can keep his promise.  And it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that if Keith helps said hot ghost finish his earthly business, Shiro will be gone.  Forever.





	Afterimage

**Author's Note:**

> listen if you think you know what this is based off of, you're right, i love you, and yes I 100% intend to continue this verse if I can justify making james as dickish as paul was.
> 
> Written for the Timelines AU Zine!

“I have told you time and time again, Keith, when dealing with these matters,  _ subtlety _ is key.”

Keith barely managed to keep from rolling his eyes at Father Kolivan as he slumped further back into the office chair.  He had been on the receiving end of lectures before; he could survive another one.

Although, it had never been at the hands of Father Kolivan, Catholic priest and principal of the Saint Marmora Mission Academy—and one of the few people in the world who understood, at least a little, how difficult it was to be Keith Kogane.

“I wasn’t caught by the cops or anything,” Keith retorted, but he didn’t meet Kolivan’s blue eyes.  “And they showed up in time, and it’s not like Sendak knows who I am. Or is gonna tell the cops I was there.  The biggest crime lord in California’s just been booked for murder and a list of other shit taller than you are.  You really think he wants to add kidnapping of a minor onto that rap sheet?”

“You may not have been caught by the police, but the ‘biggest crime lord in California’ had you at his mercy for long enough that you should be  _ concerned. _  And while you may have managed to escape with your little stunt—yes, I know you set that fire, Keith; don’t look at me like that—think about what could have happened.  Sendak might have realized that his safehouse had been compromised and moved or destroyed all of that evidence that so handily led to his arraignment. Your quest to bring Mr. Thace justice would have been for nothing.  In a worst-case scenario, if the police hadn’t been so  _ conveniently _ notified by a concerned citizen that a fire had been set with malicious intent, Sendak might have recovered from the distraction and gotten his hands on you again.  Then you would have ended up  _ like _ Thace, vanished with not even a body for your parents to bury.”

Keith opened his mouth to retort angrily, but Kolivan raised one white eyebrow at him—and something clicked.

“You’re the one who called them,” Keith burst out.  “You knew I was there and thought I was in trouble—”

“And that no warrant would be needed if there was already an incident occurring,” Kolivan interrupted, voice dry.  “Very lucky that they found what they did, lying out and all.”

Keith swallowed at the memory.  For all he dealt with this sort of thing regularly, no one had ever died in front of him before.

“How did you know?” Keith asked quietly, not able to meet Kolivan’s eyes.

The priest only made a noncommittal noise.  “I have my ways.”

Keith frowned, eyes narrowing, thinking back to that night.  Sendak’s cold expression, the glint of a gun, a worried pair of gray eyes as Keith explained his plan—

“Shiro told you.”

Kolivan sighed.  “Yes, Keith. And you’re lucky he did.  And I have to say, I’m curious why you haven’t mentioned to him to me before,” he said in a tone that wasn’t curious at all.  “You know very well that—”

“Aren’t we talking about last Saturday?” Keith interrupted, desperately wanting to avoid this conversation for now—and forever, in fact.

Kolivan’s mouth twisted in a way that told Keith this conversation would need to be had eventually; but for now, he let it be.

“I suppose we are,” Kolivan admitted.  “Please remember that there are other methods to our work.  You have resources available to you now. You’re not on your own anymore.”

Keith bit back another protest. He  _ knew  _ Kolivan was right.  This was different than New York.  This was someone else who knew that Keith wasn’t crazy.

If you had told Keith a year ago that a mild scolding from a priest about Keith’s well-being would leave him wanting to do better, be more careful, he would have said you were high.

But a lot of things had changed, in the move from New York.  And as sharp as the guilt might be, the balm of the knowledge that someone gave a shit?  That was ten times better.

“I’ll be more careful,” he mumbled, looking away.

Kolivan’s expression softened, and Keith caught the hint of a smile.

“Thank you.”

—

“You sure spent a lot of time in the principal’s office today, Keith.”

Lance’s words, loud and obviously chosen to incite antagonism over dinner, might have drawn a glare from Keith, but his father and stepmother barely batted an eyelid.  Since his marriage to Marisol Espinoza two months ago, Steven Kogane had learned not to fall for Lance’s tricks. Marisol, of course, had been exposed to them for seventeen years and would certainly not falter now.

“How is Father Kolivan?” Marisol asked Keith pleasantly.  As a practicing Catholic—and the reason, along with the poor quality of the local public schools, that the decidedly agnostic Keith had ended up in a Catholic academy—she was on quite good terms with the principal.  “I’m glad he seems to have taken you under his wing.”

“And that you’re fitting in,” Keith’s dad added, reaching over to squeeze Marisol’s hand.

Lance made a face, possibly at the overt display of affection between Keith’s dad and his mom.  Possibly at the fact that he hadn’t managed to get Keith in trouble. Possibly at the twist of an ear from his older sister, Veronica.  Probably all three.

Temporarily stymied in his quest to bother Keith, Lance switched tacks.

“What’s that book for, anyway?  It looks old as shit.”

Pidge, however, immediately perked up at the sight of the dusty tome for which Keith had eschewed his focus on dinner.  “Is that the book on the Shirogane family I found for you?”

Keith froze at the question, immediately glancing around to take stock of those present.

Steven and Marisol, smiling at each other in a way that Keith couldn’t decide was cute or nauseating.  Luis, Marco, and Veronica, Lance’s older siblings, plates piled high. Hunk and Pidge, invited to dinner more often than not—friends Keith had never expected to make, but here they were.

No one else.  The discussion was  _ probably _ safe.

“Yeah,” he finally said, trying not to look too wary.  “That interlibrary loan thing was really useful.”

“Who’s the Shirogane family?” Hunk asked between bites of shrimp.

“Really?”  Pidge adjusted her glasses.  “They’re actually very well-known around the area.  A family of Japanese immigrants who made their way to California and, through various business ventures, earned enough to essentially found our city of Altea-by-the-Sea.  Keith is researching a famous mystery regarding their oldest son, who disappeared—”

Keith’s appetite shriveled up.  He quickly stood, tuning out the rest of Pidge’s lecture, and dumped his dishes into the sink before hurrying upstairs.

As he made his way to the top floor of the old, beautiful, three-story house, he took a deep breath, then brushed his hair back, doing his best to smooth it down.

He reached out and opened the door.

The other tenant of Keith’s bedroom looked up from where he was reading a thick book in a plush red chair, mouth spreading in a grin.

“Keith!”  Shiro always sounded so excited to see him, and Keith thought his heart might jump right out of its throat.  “You’re back! How was school?”

Keith grunted, turning to stash the book underneath a few magazines before Shiro could get a good look at it.  “It’s been better. Father Kolivan wanted to talk to me.”

Shiro paused, then glanced away, guilt clear on his face.  “Oh? What about?”

Keith had inhaled to tell Shiro he knew  _ exactly _ what about, but his door flew open before he could speak.

“Jesus!” he snapped, leaping back, heart pounding even harder than it had before.  “Learn to fucking knock, will you?”

Lance glared back, clearly as unhappy to be there as Keith was to have him.  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” His eyes swept over the room—over Shiro—and he made no reaction.  “Are you talking to yourself up here? Man, I told Mami that giving a loner like you the creepiest room in the house was a—”

“What do you want, Lance?” Keith interrupted, glaring at him.  He didn’t want Lance talking about his reputation in front of Shiro, even though Lance had no idea Shiro was there.

“You forgot your bag.”  Lance thrust it forward into Keith’s arms, rolling his eyes.  “Maybe you can make conversation with that instead.” He turned to trot back down the stairs, shaking his head and muttering, “Weirdo.”

Keith turned back to Shiro, mouth in a similar shape to if he had sucked a lemon.  “He is such a—”

“Keith, please,” Shiro admonished, but he sounded like he was trying not to laugh.  He extended a hand. “Don’t let him get to you. Come here; I want to hear about your day.”

Keith could suddenly hear his heart pounding in his ears as his face flushed.  Damn it all. Every time Shiro did this, Keith couldn’t say no.

“You always want to hear about my day,” Keith protested, but he reached out to take Shiro’s hand anyway, allowing himself to be led to the window seat.  “And it’s always the same thing. Went to school, was bored for ages…”

Shiro plopped Keith down, shaking his head.  “I don’t understand how you can find it  _ boring. _  You have so many opportunities to learn things—my family, we could only send children to school for a few years.  When I turned twelve…”

Keith debated trying to distract Shiro, perhaps dangle a bit of new information in front of him to avoid talking about himself—New Horizons had sent back new pictures recently, and he knew from experience that Shiro would instantly be all over anything involving space.  Shiro had spent the last two hundred or so years stuck in this room; company had invigorated him, and Keith was thoroughly enjoying catching him up on everything.

But it was  _ nice, _ having someone like him be interested in someone like Keith.

“Okay, okay,” he acquiesced, settling into the seat and leaning against Shiro with a sigh.  His day as a regular topic of conversation hadn’t been the only thing he’d acquiesced: back in New York, Keith would have socked anyone like Shiro who had tried to touch him.  But after getting to know Shiro—and the gorgeous visage, impressive biceps, and rock-hard abs (Keith had checked) helped—Keith had grown used to and now even enjoyed the physical contact that Shiro asked of him.

After all, Shiro hadn’t been able to touch anyone for two hundred years.

“Tell me about Father Kolivan,” Shiro said quietly.  “Was he angry? I… I’m sorry that I went to him, but I was so worried…”

Keith leaned a little further into him, closing his eyes.  Keith had always felt like a freak growing up. How could he not?  Normal people didn’t see, couldn’t touch, weren’t  _ massively crushing on _ ghosts.

Father Kolivan was the first person Keith had ever met who shared Keith’s… condition.  Only, he was very firmly in the ‘ghosts should always move on’ camp.

Which was why Keith hadn’t told him about Shiro.

“No,” Keith lied—well, sort of.  It wasn’t exactly an untruth, but it was definitely avoiding the fact that there was conflict.  “We sorted it out. Don’t worry—I think he was actually more concerned about you.”

Another lie, but one Keith had a very good reason for telling.

Shiro pulled away, eyes soft and concerned, and Keith felt a pang as he did.  “Me?”

Keith bit his lip, steeling himself, then took a deep breath.

“He’s gonna want to know why you haven’t moved on.”

_ Keith had found out at three in the morning, two nights ago; Shiro had been nowhere in sight.  Keith stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, thinking— _

_ “Hey, you!  The one who can talk to the dead folks!” _

_ The three of them loomed over his bed without warning, glowing faintly, and Keith would have screamed if it weren’t for years of practice.  Still, he lunged for the knife he kept beneath his mattress—ghosts couldn’t die again, but Keith could hurt them. _

_ Of course, none of that mattered when they grabbed his wrists, holding them in a steel grip. _

Shiro’s head jerked a little, and one shoulder lifted defensively.  “I don’t see why that matters.”

_ It took Keith several moments to realize they were wearing clothes similar to what Shiro wore, though clearly of lower quality.  He bared his teeth, ready to kick some undead ass, but one of the ghosts spat off to the side. _

_ “Hold your damn horses,” another snapped, rubbing at his stubble and glaring at Keith.  “We ain’t here to hurt you. We’re just lookin’ for someone to give us some justice.” _

_ Keith managed to wrench his wrists away, panting, glaring, but… sure, he would bite.  “Fine. The fuck do you want?” _

Keith ran his fingers through his hair, looking away.  How was he supposed to…

_ “The De Silvas.  They had us killed, after we did their dirty work.  They got statues around the town! Can you believe that shit?  They’re as filthy as the rest of us. Had us kill that Shirogane nancy, then when we told ‘em to pay up, sent us his way. _ ”

_ Keith forgot how to breathe.  He knew the name; everyone in town did.  And they had… _

_ “Nancy?” he choked out.  “Shiro? Takashi Shirogane?” _

_ Another of them scoffed.  “Yeah, ‘parently he broke off the engagement with their daughter.  Rumor has it, he wanted to fuck boys instead. ‘Course, a family like that, that sorta insult…”  He drew his finger across his neck in clear indication of what it meant. _

“I don’t want you to go,” Keith said softly, and his chest ached at the thought.  “But… but Shiro, if there’s something you need to talk about…”

_ “What do you want me to do?” Keith snarled, breathless with fury.  Tempting as it was to leap out of bed and strangle them, this was information he desperately wanted—and they were already dead. _

_ “You know.  Get the word out about the De Silvas.  Let people know that they weren’t as perfect as the goddamn family liked to pretend they were.” _

_ Keith still seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.  “And… and you don’t even  _ care? _  You don’t care that you ended a life, that you killed someone who was—”  Beautiful and wonderful and perfect and— _

_ The third one stared at Keith, as if unable to comprehend the question.  “Why should we care what happened to some pervert?” _

“Not really,” Shiro said, shrugging easily.  “But thanks for asking.”

_ The words seemed to freeze the invisible hold on Keith’s muscles, and he leaped forward with a snarl, fists raised— _

_ But the three of them had vanished.  Keith was alone. _

—

How did you tell someone?

How did you tell someone that you knew why they had been killed?  That you knew what was clearly their biggest secret, something shameful that they had taken to their grave and beyond?

If you were Keith Kogane…

“I’m gay, you know.”

It had been a week since Keith’s nocturnal visitors.  Four days since Father Kolivan’s lecture. And point seven five seconds before Shiro sent  _ Pale Blue Dot _ flying across the room.

“ _ What? _ ”

“I like boys,” Keith said forcefully, watching Shiro determinedly.  He hoped Shiro couldn’t see how nervous the revelation made him; after all, that would completely undermine the point he was trying to make.  “Romantically.”

_ Pale Blue Dot _ jumped back across the room, right into Shiro’s hands—stupid ghosts, showing off their psychic powers—and he gripped it tightly.  If he had had blood, Keith suspected his knuckles might look white.

“Don’t  _ say _ that!” Shiro hissed, eyes wide, gaze darting around Keith’s room.  “You can’t—someone might—”

“I came out to my dad three years ago,” Keith interrupted, not lowering his voice.  “I’m pretty sure Lance likes guys  _ and _ girls.  At least if the way he—never mind, not the point.”  Keith shook his head. “The  _ point _ is, all of that stigma surrounding it?  It doesn’t exist anymore. I mean, a little, but not so much that if you’re found out, getting murdered is the most likely outcome.”

Shiro tensed visibly, and for several long, horrible moments, Keith was certain he had fucked this up.

“Who told you?” he finally asked, voice full of a raw pain that Keith had never heard before.

So Keith told him.

Shiro set the book aside as he spoke, folding his hands together in his lap.  Keith didn’t miss the fact that his fingers were clenched tightly around each other.

“I didn’t know,” he finally said, voice low and quiet.  “I didn’t know that they were still around.”

“Well, now you do,” Keith said firmly.  “And now we have to figure out what to do.”

“ _ Do? _ ” Shiro choked out.  “ _ We? _  No, no—I can take care of this; I don’t want you getting involved with them—”

“Bullshit!” Keith snapped, straightening with a glare.  “Shiro, I already  _ am _ involved.  And besides, don’t you want justice, too?  Don’t you want people to know what  _ happened _ to you?”

The book Keith had read on the Shirogane family had suggested that their son, Takashi, had gotten cold feet and ran away from the marriage.  Keith had closed it then, sick to his stomach, unable to continue.

Shiro wrapped his arms around himself, looking more vulnerable than Keith had ever seen him.  “Keith, I… that’s so… personal. Do I want people knowing that the De Silvas were killers? Of course.  But them knowing why…”

“Hey, hey.”  Keith stepped forward impulsively, taking Shiro’s hands, tugging him to his feet.  God, he was tall. “We’ll figure out some way to get this out without putting you in the spotlight, okay?  I’m a  _ mediator. _  I do this for a living.”

Shiro swallowed, and god, he was  _ so _ tall, and so trusting, and so  _ close _ …

“Okay,” Shiro breathed, and Keith could taste it on his lips.

“Okay,” Keith breathed right back.


End file.
